"How about you make dumplings, and I'll make some soup?" The Marshal said, looking over various items in the small apartment. "I know what you mean about cooking being relaxing. Soup is always my comfort food, always has been. No matter how hot it is, soup is good."

She smiled at Char. Despite the girl's rough edges, she was becoming quite the little lady. It didn't seem like that long ago when the Marshal had first arrived and had taught a much younger Charlotte how to cook. She didn't seem to care for it at that time. The Marshal gave a silent giggle at the change. Yes, she was growing up.

"So how goes life in the wild Sagebrush?" the Marshal asked, beginning to rummage through the kitchen for the proper utensils. "Wasn't too long ago, and this was the Wild West, there was no wall, and a bar fight killed someone approximately every 36 hours. Towns sure do change."

"They don't happen as often, but I wouldn't exactly say we've changed completely. Jed's still dealing with a lot of stuff almost once a day, sometimes more. So we're still a little rough around the edges." She smiled. "So, about you... where've you been off to since I saw you last? I want to hear any good stories you have."

"Good stories...good stories...new good stories..." The Marshal tipped her head back and thought. "Well, had a girl, couldn't have been more than eleven or so, come find me last time I was up at the courthouse. Apparently their house handyman had gotten drunk and shot her pa, then stolen some livestock and taken off. They were a fair way from any town, so her mum couldn't do much about it, and I know the sheriff in those parts, and he's useless. Too drunk to even know how to tie a knot. Anyway, the girl decided to run off to the courthouse to get help. Quite a distance, I'm quite amazed she made it, actually. Then, of course, you have this tiny thing of a girl wandering around in a large city, not knowing where to start. Somehow, she decided I'd be the one most willing to help."

She stopped and chuckled.

"More than likely because all the other marshals and all the bounty hunters look like something that got chewed on by a iron wolf and then spat back out. Anyway, she decided to pick on me. Took a lot of work to figure out where she even came from, and she didn't know more than the handyman's first name. Hardest part of the job was figuring out how to get her home to her mum.
"Of course, when I finally figured out where she lived, I had to bring her back, which she was none too happy about. Whatever the case may be, if I were her mother, I would have nearly died if my oldest girl disappeared in the night right after my husband had been killed. The mother and the oldest son--he was probably 'bout your age, maybe a bit older--were much more helpful. They had decided to move out farther west in hopes of starting over again. Clindel--that was their handyman--had cleaned them out pretty well when he left.
"I stayed with them to help them get everything set up for moving, and rode with them a ways when they first got going. When we reached the trailhead, though, I split off to track down Clindel. Apparently he'd had some trouble finding a buyer for the livestock. I guess buyers are starting to wise up about rustling. Anyway, he'd made a run for the boarder after he sold them off. I reached the buyer, a frumpy little fat man, about two days after Clindel had left, so I had made really good time.
"Ended up catching him a bit south of the border, which makes it complicated, but was also nice, because then I didn't have to be a marshal any more--I could just be a gunslinger. Apparently he'd thought he'd found some lost treasure out in the desert, and was going to claim it. He didn't get that far," she mused. "I still have the map, though. Relieved him of the profits from his little livestock venture, too, and I managed to find the family, too, and get them that. Though I don't think they'll need it--the mum is set to marry Comissioner O'Terron, and he has a decent sized pocketbook of his own, and is a softy for children. They'll be well set."

She nodded.

"Best one I can think of off the top of my head. I'm sure there are more in there, but after a while, things start to blur together, and I forget what happened when."

The attempted assassin started to stir slowly in his cell. Caldwell peered through the bars at him and grinned vindictively as the man's face crumpled in disgust at the sight of what now covered his clothes.

"That'll teach ya to go tryin' to kill an unarmed man, ya jackwagon."

The man flung his own chamber pot in Caldwell's direction and the (empty) pot shattered on the iron bars.

"You two, Cut it out!" Jedd yelled, "Caldwell. You are in enough trouble, so I suggest you shutup. On the other hand, I don't exactly like other people trying to eat my fish. So, you sir had better do some explaining," the sheriff glared at the assassin, his grey eye's proceeded to burn holes into the man's forehead.

"Who are you?"

The assassin made a gesture one typically did not use in polite company in Jedd's direction.

"As me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," he said and smirked.

"Can we torture him? Maybe smash a couple a toes or somethin'?" Caldwell asked. "I have some right nice ideas on the subject that I have been dyin' to try on a willin' volunteer."

Jedd responded in kind to the would-be assassin and then proceeded to do the same to Caldwell. He took a seat and proceeded to follow the man's instructions. "Alright then. I won't be asking anymore questions," a real mean smirk crossed his face and the sheriff drummed his fingers along his revolver's wooden grip.

"Tell me your your name. Or things get real ugly for you."

For a man trapped in a jail cell only a few feet away from several dangerous people and a wanted outlaw, the assassin was remarkably cool and collected. He settled onto the cell's cot and leaned back against the wall. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, a tiny, self-satisfied grin on his lips.

"My name is Legion, for we are many. Next question?"

"I'm not exactly a bible scholar, but I do remember that verse from Sunday School. Sweet miss Barney taught us it, so that we may use it to cast out demons someday. Never thought I'd have to do it. But I might give it a try. Because it seems to me, that the very next words that came out of that possessed man's mouth were begging for mercy." Jedd picked up an old and dusty bible that by all appearances hadn't been touched in nearly five years. And he threw it at the smug little man in sitting in his cell.

"Tell me who you work for," his calm and collected tone contrasted sharply with the beat-red color of his face and his clenched fists.

The assassin rolled his eyes at Jedd's antics. This wasn't the first time he'd been cornered by some hick sheriff with an itch to prove his manliness. He was half-surprised the kid hadn't brought a lady friend in to show off in front of.

"Why don't we just skip to the hitting and the kicking. I know that's what you're dying to get to."

"But then I'd have no fun." Jedd had a half-baked idea of giving Caldwell and the outlaw two dull knives and shoving them in a cell together. Just to see the messy result. He stood up and walked over to the bars that were separating him from the man. "Last chance, bub."

The assassin didn't bother to respond, just stared at Jedd and smirked some more.

Caldwell was getting antsy, but had a feeling that now was not the time to push Jedd's buttons. He'd just settle for pushing the Marshal's when she wandered back in.

"Okay then. Here we go."

Jed pushed open the door his and Charlotte's apartment. His sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders and his white cotton shirt covered in a godly amount of a certain dark red-colored bodily fluid. Also known as blood. The man was a tough nut to crack. And the young sheriff lacked the tools and the technique required to do so. "Well, that went well."

Mercy looked up at him, then frowned.

"Change your shirt and wash up, then tell me," she said softly, glancing in Charlotte's direction.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows at the sight of Jed's red-stained shirt. "Is that your blood, or someone else's?" They'd had many people come into the sheriff's office bloodied and bruised, so it wasn't really anything new, but the effect still managed to make her stomach turn a little bit.

"What were you doing?" she pressed further, wondering what would cause her brother to come home with blood all over his shirt.